This part is called moving on. I am currently caught up with work. The only kind of writing I do these days are either work or blogging. I am a work in progress, just like any other human being and I am recognizing my shortcomings, not just my strengths. For me to be able to write poetry again, I need to fall in love again... with life, and to see the good in each person the way I used to. I am trying to find that kind of love. What I learned in 2016: You'd be surprised at the amount of selfishness, insensitivity, lack of self-respect and disregard of values people who seem so sweet and pleasant to be with have. Be careful who you give your heart to. Be even more careful with nice people. They're the ones that can bite the most.

I have been writing since I was nine years old. The ambitious little me started with writing a novel at that age and it was grammatically disastrous. When I became comfortable with writing my thoughts, I then started writing poetry and fell in love with it. It had been my first love until I got busy with life. Nowadays, I rarely take a pen and write some lines. It was a lot easier when I didn't know disillusion. My father died of a kidney problem, I'm dealing with health issues myself, and the one great love I thought I finally found was not real. Friendships ended, promises broke, efforts and sacrifices were wasted in ingratitude. I thought I could change my life and I have... but it's different from how I pictured it to be as a child. Fairytales, as beautiful and enticing as their happily-ever-afters are, they do can come in another different ending - tragedy. Though, there is still a glimpse of hope in me telling me that my life has yet begun. I try to write when I could, but with much struggle. I am no longer the wide-eyed dreamer that I used to be. All I have now is a dose of reality in my hands. All I could ever share to you is a piece of a plain, simple woman.. whenever she finds the words and the courage to write.